


Braid

by orphan_account



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, KGB, Non-Sexual Molestation, radio drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 22:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13750395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For mgs winter games event, based on an art.Set in the KGB times of Psycho Mantis, he is called into his superiors office and is asked questions.





	Braid

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Miscellany](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598175) by [PunishedPyotr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr). 



> Based on this art by
> 
>  
> 
> [Aireyv](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aireyv/pseuds/aireyv)
> 
>  
> 
> (and referencing to her fic that we may one day see again)  
> 
> 
> Please don't mock me for the grammar, I'm too tired to beg for beta, so just be nice and tell me all the mistakes, it still has lower mistake drop that my mother tongue.

Just like a sinner waiting before the gate to Heaven, patiently awaiting his judgment, he stood before the door of his superior officer. There was nothing but an invisible barrier of jamais vu before him and the door. When he thought about a bit more, he actually felt pretty much like any person would feel standing before  _ any  _ office in Lubyanka. He wasn't scared and if he was, it would be purely because it was the most proper thing anyone could do in that situation. He was mostly just angry on himself for letting such human terrors hit him so hard.

 

Still, he didn't dare to move, not until he heard steps approaching him. In a quick math moment he compared the measure of shame of being caught so clearly afraid and the one of death penalty and knocked on the door. Feminine voice, audibly marked by the years of smoking, answered almost immediately.

 

“Come in.”

 

Right after opening the door he was hit with a smell of cigarettes and smoke that any socialist industrial city wouldn’t be proud of. That wasn’t very rare around Lubyanka. It was actually pretty common in any government workplace around, at least she was decent enough not to have the vodka bottle straight on the table. True niece of Stalin. Always prepared to play superiority before potencial american spy.

 

She haven't bothered with pretending she he disturbed her. Most officers around would finish filling some random paper, not caring if that's death sentence for some poor fellow who kept western porn magazines in his flat or lunch order for next five years. (Once he watched a man singing cabbage for every friday, these were terrible five years.) But she wasn’t like that, she saw enough in her life that she knew performance was useless waste of time. Instead she addressed him instantly.

 

“Bogomol. It took you too long.” The corner of her lips curled up in hidden smirk. She  _ knew  _ he would be nervous and dared to laugh at him. Hell, she probably even listened by the door to know exactly when he came to her door and how long he hesitated.

 

“Comrade Krozhevska.” 

 

“Close the door and come here.”

 

The weird feeling of something familiar that haven’t happened before grew only stronger. Still it was best to comply, so he did.

 

She pointed on a chair by her desk. It was in much worse state than her own. Its iron structure reminded him of a chair and dark room in a memory that wasn't his. It gave him chills. Despite that was just as any low budget chair would look like and again, considering there were literally two types of chair made every ten years, it wouldn’t be surprising if he saw it before.

 

“Please, sit down.”

 

She was terrifying. Everyone around here was in a way. But she was in her own cruel style, he could only compare to a fairytale witch. Or maybe to the evil fairy, but this was Russia, not Ireland and Baba Yaga rode the black trucks. (He honestly believed the legend about Baba Yaga in obvious KGB cars started when someone saw Comrade Krozhevska, coming from it.) It wasn’t like she would look like a witch. Her skills of self care were actually impressive, considering soviet resources. She wasn’t even relying on the smuggled western goods, as she was old enough to remember it being a lethal hazard. She wore the same clothes everyone else did, but could still make them fit into a legit outfit. Still there was something on her that screamed she was dangerous.

 

“How are you doing, comrade?” She certainly had a point of calling him here. This was obviously just small talk, that was meant to make him loosen up, so she can eat him easier.

 

“I’m doing well, Comrade Krozhevska.” He answered simply.

 

“Are you? That's good. You are so young, it would be understandable if you were struggling a little.” Her light eyes pierced the glass of his gas mask and he, feeling uncomfortable, impolitely lowered his gaze. He wasn't used for people to bother looking in his eyes. His mask mostly discouraged them from the attempt, it kept his anonymity and the inhuman illusion. He couldn't read her mind, but he was sure she did that on the very purpose to set him off. It didn't take a much social skills to see she enjoyed making him uncomfortable. Again, every single person in this building was a sadist.

 

“I don't have any problems in here.”  _ None you would need to know of _ , he never added.

 

“I heard quite a lot about you though.” He wanted to tell her to stop looking at him the way she did. “You have a too big mouth for your own good.”

 

“Everything was already solved.” He wasn't being mocked for opening his mouth on co-workers who deserved it, not again.

 

“That I heard too. But never your version of the story.”

 

“There's no story.” He didn't really want to explain himself to her or anyone.

 

“Alright then, I'm glad you are capable then.” She slowly stood up from her chair.

 

“And what about outside work?” She walked towards him. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

 

She must be making fun of him now.

 

“No.”    
Maybe the answer was to fast or too harsh, she blinked and stopped, she already stood too close to him. He felt degraded sitting while she stood.

 

“That’s  _ woeful _ **.** You must be lonely.” She laid her hand over the bottom of his locks, nuzzling them between her fingers. It took all his self control not to twitch.

 

There was only one right answer he could give her and he knew it.

 

“I’m devoting my best years to The Soviet Union.”

 

Her smile grew wider.

 

“That’s honorable. But you should be careful to catch a women in time. You don't want to end up old and alone.” She caressed his locks, taking more and more in her hands. He wanted to slap her hand away. Wanted to run. Anything just go get away.

 

“I’ve been telling that to my daughter and you know what?” She pulled on his hair. Not enough to properly hurt but enough to trigger. “She put her carrier first and the jerk she at last married, tried to run away with some younger chick and my daughter’s money.” Cheat on a daughter of late-stalinism KGB officer. He must have been clever.

 

The pulling on his hair continued.

 

“Or Ocelot. You don't want to end up like him.” Suddenly it was very clear why she called him. He stayed silent.

 

“You two seem getting along fine. Are you a good friends?”

 

“I can't say that. He is my superior and I respect him as that.”

  
_ Just let her hear what she wants to hear. _

 

“Do you spend time with him outside work?”

 

“I can't say so. He sometimes pays me a visit, but those are purely work motivated.”

 

“Are they? He seems quite close to you. There weren't many co-workers, he could get along with. Nor any that would stay long by his side.”

 

She tangled his locks, every pull hurt him, both physically and mentally. But he didn't dare to look at her. She didn't say more and it took him a moment to realize, she was waiting for his answer.

 

“I can stand many things others would not.”

 

The pull on his hair eased and she caressed him, she did that close behind his ear, not so different from the way one would praise a dog.

 

“So you don't held any loyalties to him?”

 

“I am loyal to The Soviet Union.”

 

She let go of his hair and patted his head. It didn't help his already growing headache.

 

“And that’s how it should be.”

 

She smiled as she went back to her chair.

 

“You may go.”

 

It took all his self control not to literally run out of the office and safe what was left of his self respect. Which was killed anyway the moment he turned the first corner and met no one else but Comrade Ocelot who only smirked on him.

 

“I see you have been with Comrade Krozhevska”

 

“Ocelot. How-”

 

Ocelot only pointed at his head and Mantis looked to the nearest reflective surface. Even in the dark mirror, he could see hair on a side of his hair pulled up, braided tightly. If he haven’t lost his voice in that moment, he would scream.

 

“She has been mentioning you look like a western hippie.” Ocelot smirked. “I think she wanted me to cut your hair for her.”   
  
He patted his shoulder.   
  
“Don’t let her scare you, she’s just jealous.”   
  
He wanted to blame Ocelot for his shame, but he was still in minor shock.


End file.
